


Keep Me With You

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4574139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn looks after Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Me With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Browneyedbeauty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Browneyedbeauty/gifts).



> The prompt was for Zayn taking care of Niall. I changed it up a bit and went with the five times trope. I hope that's okay.

One Direction had been together for a full year and some days it felt like no more than a month and other times, when they were living in each other’s pockets, sharing everything from food and jumpers to underwear and toothpaste, it felt like they’d been doing this as long as they’d been breathing. 

Sharing their lives meant if one of them got sick, eventually it would hit all of them. It hit Niall last, and hardest, ten minutes into the hour long drive to the airport, at the tail end of their whirlwind trip to Los Angeles. It began with a throb at the base of his skull, an ache between his eyes, until he was clammy and overheated and yearning for his bed. 

In a group of bold, loud personalities, Niall had found his space as the one everything rolled off of. He went with any crazy plan Louis came up with, laughed with Harry and his antics. 

Harry had been sick the entire flight from New York to Los Angeles, pale and shaky. Harry was the worst when he was sick, moaning and looking for attention. 

Niall was tucked in the back of the van, head down, hoping to be left alone until he didn’t feel like he’d been run over by a truck. 

“You alright, Niall?” Liam said from the seat in front, turning to look over his shoulder. “You look poorly.”

“Fine,” Niall mumbled, trying for a smile and feeling it stutter and fall, the energy seeping out of him. He rested his forehead against the seat back.

Niall sighed at the first touch of Zayn’s fingertips, cool against the back of his neck. “You’re burning, babe,” Zayn said against his forehead, his lips parted on Niall’s skin.

Niall was no good at asking for what he wanted but he turned his cheek into Zayn’s touch and mumbled, “keep doing that.”

Zayn made a low sound of agreement, fingers stroking Niall’s skin in circles. “You can sleep on the plane,” Zayn said, and Niall could hear him trying to reassure him but mostly he felt exhausted at the thought of the flight ahead of them. 

The rolling of the wheels lulled him into a doze, and he let himself relax into Zayn’s touch. 

That had come about quickly, the five of them entangling together, constantly touching each other. Niall liked it, the way they relied on one another, as though Harry’s arm around his shoulders or Liam coming to him when he needed a rest was how they helped each other get through all of the change. 

It was a flu, maybe, or exhaustion from a whirlwind trip that left no time for rest. All the excitement of shooting their very first video, of flying to the States for the first time, of hearing their finished single, all of it had left them all over-excited, overwhelmed.

It felt like the worst possible moment to fall sick, on the way back to London to start promoting the song, a packed month of tv performances, interviews and appearances and no time for being sick.

Zayn kept stroking the tips of his fingers along the clammy part of Niall’s neck where he was sweaty and flushed and Niall closed his eyes and leaned into it. It was nice to be touched like this, nicer still that it was Zayn touching him, gently, carefully, reverently.

Niall was nearly asleep when they arrived at LAX, the air hot, the smog thick and heavy, and the airport bustling with hundreds of people.

Niall wanted to cry as he struggled to sit up. His throat was tight and when he swallowed it hurt. He climbed out of the car, his back one long ache, his knee twingeing and as he jumped down. 

In the last few months they’d started to learn each other’s quirks, the things that got underneath their skin, the phobias and anxieties that plagued each of them in different ways. 

Niall had shared with them quickly that he was claustrophobic. Now, though, they were crowded around him as if they could shield him from the way he felt. 

He shrugged his rucksack on and pulled his hoodie down low over his eyes, despite the heat. They were a sight, the five of them and their bulky men guarding them, keeping them together. 

Niall might have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he hadn’t felt so poorly, so close to tears. 

Niall felt Zayn come up beside him and before he realized it, Zayn slipped his hand into Niall’s, fitting their fingers together. His thumb rubbed circles across the back of Niall’s hand and Niall shivered. 

“You’re okay,” Zayn said, tugging him close and tucking his chin into the curve of Niall’s shoulder, an arm slung protectively around him. 

Paul and Preston ushered them into the airport where the air was cooler and the crowd wasn’t quite as thick and Zayn held onto him. They were friends, the kind of close that only came from being flung so quickly together into the unknown. They all were. Niall wanted to think it was different with Zayn. He wanted to think Zayn noticed it too.

Niall wanted to ask what it meant, and he might have, if not for the flu, the crowd, the heat. If not for the quiet little crush he’d harbored for close to a year.

Zayn still asked to sit by the window, still pressed his nose against the pane as they took off but this time Niall sat beside him, his head on Zayn’s shoulder. 

In the air, Zayn handed one of his ear buds to Niall and they listened to Miguel until Niall dozed off, Zayn right behind him with his cheek pillowed against him. 

* * * 

Falling in love with Zayn happened piece by piece. A gradual slide into it, slow and steady until Niall couldn’t remember not loving him. 

It didn’t matter that Zayn didn’t love him back in the same way. This was Niall’s, a secret of his own that he carried with him through the huge moments of One Direction and the smaller, quieter moments of his personal life. 

He took what he could from Zayn, the impromptu three am phone calls when they weren’t on tour, completely random texts with a quote or a photo Zayn thought he might appreciate, sharing a quiet space on the bus when the world around them go too loud. 

In Japan, they snuck away together. 

“Come with me,” Niall said after an early morning interview. “I’m going for sushi.” 

Zayn was reading. He looked like he’d settled in for a bit, the sleeves of his jumper pulled down over his hands, his legs kicked up on the sofa, a dog eared paperback in his lap and his headphones around his neck. He looked soft, his hair growing out, his face clean shaven. Niall wanted to climb into his lap and stay for a while. 

Zayn’s nose wrinkled and he hesitated, like he wanted to say no. And then he set his book aside. 

“Alright,” he said with a soft little smile that Niall felt in the pit of his stomach and the tips of his fingers. 

The restaurant was within walking distance and they dragged Basil and Preston along with them, out into the windchill. 

Japan was a different world opened up to them. They’d been to some pretty incredible places, most of Europe and the States, parts of Canada. But Japan was unlike anyplace Niall had imagined seeing and he could feel that same sense of awe in Zayn, the way he turned his head to look at everything, afraid he might miss something. 

The restaurant was quiet and they sat together in a corner, Preston and Basil off to the side at a table of their own. 

Their fans were different here, respectful of their privacy and wary of interrupting.

Niall ordered three different kinds of fish. 

“What?” he said on a laugh at Zayn’s face, eyebrows up. 

“Don’t know about raw fish, bro,” he said with a shake of his head. “Think I’ll stick with soup and rice.” 

Later, the fish came back in the worst way. They were barely back at the hotel, pushing into Zayn’s room for a kip before the night’s performance and Niall felt his stomach roll over. 

It hit him all at once, a terrible nausea that made him go clammy all over. 

“Babe,” Zayn said, touching Niall’s wrist. “Alright? You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

There was no time to answer, one moment he felt fine, the next he was sick everywhere, shoulders hunched and body convulsing as he vomited everything he’d eaten all over the floor between them.

Niall might have died of embarrassment if they hadn’t seen each other through worse. 

“Shit,” Zayn mumbled, “hang on, babe.” 

Niall let himself be ushered into the bathroom like a child, Zayn talking quietly to him as if Niall could focus on anything other than the need to be sick again. 

Zayn sat with him, right there on the floor with Niall resting his cheek on the toilet and Niall thought maybe he would give in and die right there.

“Don’t,” he mumbled pitifully, closing his eyes.

Zayn slipped his palm beneath Niall’s t-shirt, rubbing circles against his skin where he was flushed. 

“Told you, bro,” Zayn said softly, a gentle tease in his voice. “Stay away from raw fish.”

Niall groaned, stomach rolling violently. But Zayn cuddled him close with a little laugh and stayed there with him even when he was sick for a second time.

After a bit, Zayn left to go get help cleaning up and Niall found the energy to get to his feet. He stood carefully, waiting for the nausea to hit him again. When it didn’t, he cleaned himself up. He splashed his face with cool water and when he thought he was through the worst of it, climbed into the shower. 

He came back into the bedroom with a towel around his hips and found Zayn still there, waiting for him. 

“Thought you might need this,” he said, gesturing to a bottle of water and some paracetamol. “You should drink as much as you can.” 

“Cheers, Zayn,” he said, feeling the awkwardness start to set in. 

He dressed in joggers and a hoodie. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Niall said instead of asking Zayn to stay forever. 

In the beginning, at sixteen and seventeen, away from home for the first time and terrified by everything ahead of them, they’d taken refuge and comfort in one another. Falling asleep in one bed instead of five, throwing themselves together and taking on the world. 

They didn’t need it like they used to and Niall missed it sometimes, the way they’d found a calmness in each other. 

“Where else would I go, hmm?” Zayn said with his lips against Niall’s forehead. Niall ached for how sweet Zayn could be with him, gentle and soft like Niall was precious and worth looking after. 

They could all be like that, truthfully, the four of them standing guard around him like he was the baby. The part of him that had been looking after himself since he was nine kind of liked it. He liked it best when it was Zayn watching out for him, getting in a fight with a pap for him, cutting off an interviewer who was pressing too hard. 

Zayn settled his weight up against Niall’s. 

He woke up a while later to Zayn nudging him gently. “We’ve gotta go,” he said apologetically. “You feeling any better?”

Niall’s mouth was dry and he was overheated, sweat pooling uncomfortably at the small of his back but all he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss Zayn. He was all soft like this, in his jumper with his new hair, always so beautiful but more so somehow. 

“Thanks,” Niall mumbled, wanting to say more, wanting to tell Zayn the truth. 

“Of course,” Zayn said like it was what anyone would do, like there were dozens of people waiting to clean up after Niall when he’d been sick or stay with him because he was feeling poorly. 

Niall closed his eyes, wishing they could stay like this. 

* * * 

Zayn kissed him for the first time in Las Vegas, in the middle of a thousand neon lights and a bass thumping beneath their feet. 

Niall and Liam had spent two years talking about a shared twenty-first birthday party in Las Vegas, making grand plans and imagining all the ways they’d live it up when they were legal in the States. Two years after their first trip to Nevada, Niall celebrated turning twenty-one with eight of his closest mates and Zayn, who’d showed up with Preston, looking like it was perfectly normal for him to be there. 

“Careful,” Zayn said after Niall accepted another shot, raising it in thanks and then downing it in one go. Zayn had stepped in close, his hand protective on Niall’s hip and Niall was halfway to being shit faced and so overwhelmed that Zayn was still here. 

“Come get some air with me,” Zayn said, his mouth right against the shell of Niall’s ear. 

Zayn tucked Niall’s hand in his and led him through the throng of people, the swell of the music and the glowing lights out to the pool where it wasn’t quite quiet but it was less busy. 

Zayn pressed a bottle of water into Niall’s hand. “Drink this.”

Out here, even with all the lights from the strip, the sky was clear enough to make out the shapes of the stars, the billions of twinkling lights looking down on the two of them, out here alone. 

Niall downed half the bottle in one thirsty go. Away from the heat of hundreds of people pressed together and the glare of the lights, he could feel his head start to clear. 

He had a dozen questions that all boiled down to the the fact that Zayn was still here. It was after two, long after Liam and Louis and Mark and other members of their team had given up and packed it in. And Zayn was still here, with him. 

“You’re still here,” Niall said suddenly, setting the bottle down. Zayn, who disappeared during a break, who didn’t answer his phone or email, who spent hours locked away reading or painting, was still here with him. 

“Yeah, babe,” Zayn said, the tone of voice he might have used on a child learning to tie their laces for the first time. “I’m still here. 

“Why?” Niall blurted. 

Zayn frowned. “Why?” 

“You’re always here,” Niall said in a rush, “when I need you.” He didn’t know what he was saying, he didn’t know if this was the moment where he let it all come out but he couldn’t think of a time when it would make more sense than this. 

“God, I love you,” Niall said. He’d said it before, he said it to all of them all the time. He’d never said it when he meant it like this, when he meant _I’m so in love with you, please stay, please love me back._

Zayn smiled then, the kind of smile that Niall thought of as _his_ , the smile that softened his eyes and made him look desperately beautiful. “I love you too,” he said and Niall was shaking his head before he’d gotten the words out because no, that’s not what he meant. 

“No,” he said and it felt urgent, this need for Zayn to _know_. “In love, Zayn, I’m in love with you.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn said like he was agreeing to something Niall didn’t understand. Maybe he was too drunk for this conversation. Maybe he would never be ready. Maybe if he closed his eyes and wished hard he could undo it all. 

Niall was shaking his head like he could shake the memory of this moment right out and it took a second to catch up to the cool press of Zayn’s lips against his own. 

Zayn had one hand in Niall’s belt loop and the other cupping his jaw and Niall just stood there, blinking into the night. Every single moment of wishing for this deserted him. He didn’t know what to do with his hands or his lips, like he’d forgotten the mechanics of kissing in the face of the sudden, overwhelming reality of Zayn’s mouth on his. 

Zayn was patient with him, always unendingly patient and Niall’s reflexes kicked in, backing him up. He set his hands at Zayn’s waist and let his lips part as Zayn kissed him again, this time a little slower, a little more thorough, his tongue darting into Niall’s mouth, licking the inside of his lip. 

God, it was _good_. Zayn’s hand slipped beneath his t-shirt, fingertips cool against Niall’s overheated, flushed skin, holding him close as he kissed Niall like he was learning the way he tasted, memorizing the feel of him, the shape of his mouth. 

They stood in the shadows with the heat rippling around them, the music a staccato beat in the background. 

Niall needed to breathe. He needed to not get papped snogging Zayn on his birthday. He broke the kiss, taking a breath in and a step back. 

They stood there for a beat, looking at each other like neither of them understood what had happened and then Zayn blurted, “happy birthday,” stumbling back a step like he’d only just realized how close they were, that he’d just had his tongue in Niall’s mouth and his hands on his bare skin. 

It that moment at Judges Houses again, when Louis had poured ice water on him, sneaking up behind him and dousing him from head to toe, the warmth from the sand and the sunlight dissolving under the weight of the water. 

Niall’s fingers itched to touch his mouth, to see if it felt any different. _He_ felt different. 

“Was that a birthday kiss?” he asked, wanting the truth and terrified of it. 

“No.” Zayn touched Niall’s mouth where his lips still tasted like Zayn. “Not a birthday kiss.” 

“Oh,” Niall breathed out, years of wanting and wishing and hoping boiling down to one perfect moment. 

“Good,” he said and pitched forward, feet knocking into Zayn’s, lips bumping and then meeting his. 

* * * 

Niall was full of shit occasionally. 

He’d spent the month leading up to Colorado ignoring the impending surgery, blowing it off when asked about it, acting like he was okay. He said it without thinking about it, an automatic “I’m okay.” 

He’d never been more terrified in his life.

Zayn kissed him goodbye the morning he left. 

“I want to come with you,” he’d said, more than once. But Niall wanted it quiet. He didn’t want photos, he didn’t want any noise or tabloid articles or speculation. He wanted it over and done with. 

It was longer and more difficult than he’d been told it would be and when he got home, he slept for eighteen hours, in a drugged up haze. His dreams were strange and and the sleep didn’t feel restful. 

The pain wasn’t the worst of it. It was the way the drugs made him feel, completely outside of himself. After the first day when he hadn’t recognized Willie, he tried to go without them and that had been terrifying, the pain making him sick to his stomach until he retched all over the side of his bed.

Zayn was there, always right there beside him, though half the time those first days Niall didn’t know who anyone was. 

By the end of the second week, after his leg had begun to heal and he wasn’t relying so heavily on the drugs, he was going mad. 

“Jesus, I’m bored,” Niall said. 

They’d spent the morning in the garden with Niall on his crutches and Zayn bundled up beside him, helping him navigate the terrace and get his bearings. 

It had felt fucking good to be outside, to exert himself in a way that wasn’t getting up to move from the sofa to the loo or the bedroom. 

Zayn was thumbing through a stack of photos Caroline had sent him, new designers she wanted him to consider. He set the pile aside and said, “I could distract you, if you like,” one crooked eyebrow cocked and his lips curving in a grin. 

Niall hadn’t felt like fucking around since the surgery. The pain had been too much at first and then the drugs had dulled every part of him. 

He slid a little lower into the sofa cushions, pushing the blanket to the floor and waggled his eyebrows. “If you feel you want to,” he said and laughed when Zayn ducked his head to nip at his earlobe, right where he was ticklish. 

Zayn settled his weight on Niall’s good leg, ever gentle and careful. He slid his hand into Niall’s hair and tilted his head back. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said before he kissed him. 

They’d gotten through the newness of being together, of learning what the other liked and Zayn had learned quickly that nothing got Niall worked up like kissing, like Zayn’s weight on him and his hands in his hair. 

Niall leaned into the kiss, his weight knocking into Zayn. It was awkward like this, Zayn leaning over him and Niall unable to do much more than this, his leg stretched out in front of him. 

Zayn pushed his hand down Niall’s joggers where his cock had plumped up and he was all warm and flushed. 

“Fuck,” Niall breathed, rocking his hips up into Zayn’s hand, careful of his knee. 

He gripped Zayn’s wrist. “Zayn,” he mumbled into Zayn’s mouth. “Do it.”

He felt Zayn’s smile against his lips, felt the little hitch in his breath. Zayn pushed his hand lower and pressed one dry fingertip beneath his balls, right where he was tight and clenching. 

Niall could come like this, if Zayn kept kissing him and kept touching him like that. 

“Hang on,” Zayn muttered against Niall’s cheek and Niall wanted to curse out loud. Zayn smiled. “You’ll like this, babe,” he promised and climbed off the sofa to settle himself in front of Niall. 

He tucked his fingers in the waist of Niall’s joggers and Niall carefully lifted himself up to let Zayn tug them down around his thighs. 

Afterwards, with both of them breathing hard and the come cooling on Niall’s belly, Zayn kissed him carefully and said all soft and sweet, “love you.” 

* * * 

In Amsterdam, all the months of work Niall had done in therapy to get back to full strength threatened to come undone when someone threw ball on stage, one of those heavy things that sailed through the crowd before Niall realized what was happening. 

They were used to wading through mountains of _things_ , stuffed toys and ridiculous costumes, underwear and inappropriate toys. He was used to navigating through all of it and yet it caught him by surprise, the thud of the ball connecting with his knee, the pain bursting out of him like an explosion, from his knee through the rest of his body until he could swear he felt it in his fingertips, his teeth, the space between his ribs. 

His eyes stung and his chest seized up and he thought for one blinding second that he’d break apart right there in front of fifty thousand people. He stopped singing. Hundreds of shows he’d done and this was the first time he missed his verse completely, his back turned away from the crowd as he bent over with both hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath. He could recognize the panic welling up in the depth of his gut, trying to break loose. 

Liam came up behind him and tucked an arm around his waist, sending the crowd into hysterics as he checked on him. 

Niall shook his head and moved away to try and walk it off, gingerly putting his weight on his bad leg, hoping if he just pushed through it, everything would go back to the way it had been a moment ago. 

He could feel them closing in on him, the way they did for each other when it was needed, the way Liam fielded the questions no one wanted to answer, the way Louis made them smile when they wanted to crack, the way Zayn offered himself through his silent support, the way Harry made himself the face of the band so they could keep some parts of themselves private. 

And Niall’s part was to laugh and smile through it, to let it roll off him like it weighed nothing. 

And he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t laugh through the pain in his knee, he couldn’t shake off the fear that something had been permanently damaged, he couldn’t smile past the ache in his throat. 

They did what they always did for one another - they covered for him. Liam kept the crowd going, Zayn circled around him, Louis threw water into the audience and Harry sang his part. It’s what they did, why they were better together than apart. 

Off stage, he could see Basil speaking with Paul, heads bent together. Bas looked up, a question unspoken. Niall shook his head. 

By the final song, he was done. The pain had made everything go hazy at the edges. He started up the ramp as everyone ran up behind him, Harry steadying him with a hand on his back, Zayn in front of him and Liam giving a final goodbye to Amsterdam. 

Looking back, he wouldn’t remember how he got through the rest of the show, just that he did, and then they were coming off stage with his boys surrounding him, hands on his hips, shadowing him from the crowd as he limped up the ramp.

He felt Zayn there beside him, felt that odd Niall shaped anger that was his alone.

They’d been sharing a bed now for a while but on the road Zayn slept in the bus and Niall in a hotel, needing to keep a little of themselves separate.

Niall shut the door on Bas, mumbling him off despite his insistence on staying.

He wasn’t okay, or fine, but he was going to fall apart, he could feel it coming no matter how hard he tried to hold onto the threads, and the sooner Bas left, the sooner he could let go.

He needed a shower despite the more pressing need to crawl into bed with the pillows over his head and hope sleep came quickly.

He turned the shower on, letting the steam fill the room and waited until he was standing naked under the spray to let out a shaky breath that turned quickly into a sob.

Fuck. It wasn’t as simple as the pain shooting out from his knee, the way it hurt to put the slightest weight on it. It was everything it meant, the months of pain he was trying to move past, the drugs that had left him feeling like half of himself, the fear that he’d never be the same, that he’d never play football or perform on stage the way he had before. 

He had his head down, forehead leaning against the shower wall, the heat easing the ache in his body, the water sliding over his skin.

He wasn’t surprised when the door to the bathroom opened. 

“It’s me,” Zayn said over the noise of the water but Niall had known Zayn would be here. 

Niall closed his eyes and let out a shaky little sigh when Zayn climbed into the shower behind him. His hands were gentle on Niall’s hips, his lips soothing against his skin. He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say, no way to fix it but to get through it. Zayn was good at that, at knowing when the best he could do was to just be there. Zayn was good at being there. 

Niall leaned his head back against Zayn’s shoulder and let himself be upset. He didn’t feel like breaking down quite so much, with Zayn here to steady him. 

Zayn dipped his head and touched his mouth to the back of Niall’s neck, the curve of his shoulder. He stroked his thumb in the hollow of Niall’s hip and let Niall lean on him.


End file.
